In Dreams
by thedeadparrot
Summary: Sofie still dreams of the carnival.


Sofie still dreams of the carnival.

Sometimes she works with the rousties, still unsure of her place in the grander scheme of things, working her hands to the bone. There's something cleansing about the mindlessness of the labor, the way she doesn't have to think. The coveralls she wears still feel strange, even though she's worn them for at least a few weeks. They don't fit at all, maybe that's why.

Jonesy's always there at the corner for her eye, watching her, daring her to screw up. He'll look away and spit when she faces him, unable to confront her. He can't anymore, anyway, he's dead. Sofie saw to that.

None of the rousties talk to her, and when they speak to each other, Sofie can't hear it. It reminds her of a silent film, mouths moving, but no sound coming out.

She's always known that she didn't belong there. She was never a carny. Never will be. Brother Justin was wrong about that, but then again, he was wrong about a lot of things.

Other times, she's in the Cooch tent, watching Libby dance. Sofie has always envied her in some ways, her freeness with herself, her somewhat functional relationship with her mother, her beauty that seemed to draw in men wherever they went. But she doesn't have what Sofie has now, and maybe that's enough.

In her dreams, Sofie's alone in the tent and Libby dances because Sofie wants her to.

When Libby dances, she never smiles, never frowns, face blank and impassive, going through the moves of her routine without any feeling. Sofie sometimes wants to see if she can make Libby _react_, in any way. A laugh, a frown, a "fuck you, bitch", anything. She doesn't know how, though, because Libby never looks at her, never acknowledges Sofie's presence at all.

Sofie wonders if that means something.

Sometimes when Sofie dreams, she's in the middle of the Midway at night with a healthy crowd, lights everywhere and so bright she can't help but giggle like a little girl again, seeing it all for the first time, feeling like she's just woken up. Samson's there, weaving in and out of legs with a practiced ease. He smiles at her, that same fatherly smile she's seen all her life. She wears her gypsy skirt, the one that's orange and purple, and just so much brighter than anything she's worn since.

In those dreams, Sofie thinks she might have had a family there, a place to belong.

Samson will talk to her, on the back of one of the trucks. They don't say anything of use, really, just a rehashing of old stories and jokes they've told or heard thousands of time before. But Sofie has a cigarette and Samson's voice, and she thinks she just might be able to be happy.

She's sure that dream doesn't mean anything, it couldn't possibly.

Sofie doesn't like to admit that she dreams of Ben. He's the other now, the opposite, the enemy. Justin talks about him sometimes, with loathing, with anger. He doesn't have to hide it anymore. They both know the truth now, that one day, they will have to kill Ben. Sofie knows she can do it when the time comes, when she'll have to watch his blue blood soak through his shirt and the life go out of his eyes.

In Sofie's dreams, they sit on the edge of the desert, next to a road. The Lincoln Highway, maybe the one that took her to New Canaan. No cars ever come by, though, and she's never so much as seen a snake, even under the rocks. Behind them, the carnival sets up, the silence of the road punctuated by the grunts and yells of the rousties.

Ben always holds her hand, gently, and sometimes she'll lean on his shoulder. He never says anything to her unless she says something first, and sometimes she needs that, just to hold his hand. She doesn't like to need it, though, and she's thought about trying to kill him, just to see if she can, but she can't find the strength to do it. She hates that she can be so weak.

They're always dressed the way they were the last night before she left the carnival. She doesn't like the nightgown, as it always reminds her of him, but maybe that's why she wears it when she dreams of this place.

"Are you really here?" she asked him once, watching a cactus distort in the heat.

He turned to look at her, eyes squinted in the bright sun. "Are _you_ really here?" he'd replied.

Sofie didn't know so she changed the subject.

It was always strange to see him, because she still though of him as the "new kid", the recruit that didn't quite fit in. There's a certain irony to the fact that he fits in better now than she ever did or ever will. She burned those bridges with Jonesy and Justin. She can't ever go back.

She told Ben that once, and he'd become pensive, thoughtful. "Everything's impossible, 'til it ain't," he had said, and Sofie couldn't help but mull that over in her head for a few days.

It's always been hard to understand what's been going on in Ben's mind, from the day she met him, and Sofie doesn't think she ever figured it out, but it's downright impossible to get a straight answer from him in her dreams, and Ben, while a liar, was never very good at being cryptic. He likes being mysterious here, only giving away half answers and strange comments about nothing.

Sofie will tell Justin about the dreams of Jonesy, of Libby, of Samson, and he will listen interestedly, nodding in the right places, reminding her that she belongs here with him, doing the work of God. She can't tell him about the dreams of Ben. She's afraid that they might stop.

She doesn't know why they mean so much to her, but they do, and she's not sure she can let them go.

FIN.


End file.
